Nothing left to offer
by public static void
Summary: "No one will take the mudblood away from you," Bellatrix called out, mocking the feelings of her beloved sister. "Why, you can even keep the ashes, dear sister."


For the Wold Gobstones Competition at **The Golden Snitch**. Prompt: black — write about a light character going to the dark side.

Wordcount: 695 words.

* * *

The body in front of Andromeda was still warm, but his eyes were lifeless. There was no mistake: Ted Tonks was dead.

"Now you can do what countless generations of Blacks have done, Andy," Bellatrix said from behind her sister. She was peeking at the dead man over Andromeda's shoulder. Her sister was shaking and Bellatrix refrained from laughing at the feeble emotions written all over her face. "Listen to me, sister. We will be great under the Dark Lord!"

"Did you do this, Bellatrix?" Andromeda managed to ask and Bella laughed this time. Her sister was trembling, foolishly grieving the death of someone born with inferior blood. "Tell me!"

Bella shook her head, pouting.

"Someone beat me to it, Andy," she said, coloring her words with enough regret that Andromeda would still blame her after all. "But don't be mistaken. I would have gladly tortured the one who tried to steal you from us. I would have torn his skin from his flesh and feed it to him in a heartbeat. All while holding him under my Cruciatus. That's what we do to people who turn family into backstabbing witches!"

Bella saw her sister tears running down her cheeks. It felt like a victory. It was a victory! Now, Andy could follow her and the rest of their family into the proper path, one that aligned with the ideals of generations of purebloods: this way, Andromeda wouldn't fall prey to the light.

So, it was too sweet when her sister cast an Incendio over the body of the mudblood. The smell of death, of human flesh being burned to crisp, filled the room.

"You won't be getting the smell off your sheets any soon," giggled Bellatrix. She would kill to have that fragrance in a bottle. Hm. Maybe she could.

"I hope so," Andromeda replied coldly, more similar to their Aunt Cassiopeia than to their tempestuous Aunt Walburga. "I won't try to forget him, Bellatrix. Neither you or our family can take the memories away from me. If you try, I will kill you."

Bellatrix knew Andromeda said the truth; the cold stare and the trembling lips couldn't lie. It was what Bellatrix wanted. She wanted to drive Andromeda away from the path of sunshine and into the deepest parts of her heart, where the only thing that mattered was the selfish need to have someone else. That way, Andromeda wouldn't falter.

"No one will take the mudblood away from you," Bellatrix called out, mocking the feelings of her beloved sister. "Why, you can even keep the ashes, dear sister."

* * *

"All who come to me bear a gift," the Dark Lord said. Andromeda noticed the amused glint in his eyes, the soft–looking hands that moved slowly, encompassing his words, and the mischievousness of his voice. The Dark Lord looked like a child playing pretend with his friends. "What do you have for me, Andromeda Black?"

She had nothing of worth. Once, before Hogwarts, she thought herself wealthy. The Blacks were prosperous, ancient, noble. Andromeda wasn't.

The only thing she had was bitterness and resentment towards her sister. She had anger directed at her family and loathing for her blood. Once, Andromeda only had love.

"I have nothing to offer, my Lord," she said and kneeled in front of the man who was less than her last resource. He was the promise of suffering —the reminder of what her sister did to get her back to the proper path. He was the dignity she lost and the hope she'd never recover. "But my own life and magic."

She said those words knowing there won't be going back, and though she didn't know if he would accept, Andromeda had nothing else to lose or gain.

Then he stood up from the makeshift black throne and stood before her. Andromeda wondered if she should kiss his robes.

"Stand," she did as commanded and offered him her arm when he silently requested it with an extended hand and a quirked eyebrow. " _Morsmordre_."

With that —with the interminable pain that tied her soul to his will and bound her life to his wishes— Andromeda was his.


End file.
